In Hot Fudge And Cold Blood

by A. R. Winters

  “She didn’t know that!”

  A small giggle escaped my lips before I could regain my composure and look serious for Kiwi’s benefit again.

  “My mother is clueless about many things, but she is aware that birds can—and indeed do—fly.”

  “So you’re taking her side?”

  “No!” I said in alarm. “Of course not! I just don’t think you were in quite as much danger as you made it sound. She was terribly rude though. I’ll have a word with her if you like.”

  “Good luck,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “I know what you mean. She’s not a very good listener, is she?”

  Kiwi shook his little head and made a parrot’s chattering sound, which was roughly equivalent to him giggling. “She won’t listen, because she’s not there.”

  “She’s not there? What happened?”

  Kiwi shrugged his wings and began to walk up and down across the counter.

  “She just left.”

  “Just left? For no reason? What, did she just roll away?”

  Kiwi cackled in delight. “Almost. After the attempted murder, I started dropping things on her.”

  “Things? Like what?”

  He shrugged his wings again and looked around innocently.

  “Like what, Ki?”

  “Oh. A book. A kitchen spatula. A rolling pin. A couple of mugs. Just stuff.”

  I flicked my head around to glare at him. “Did you make a mess?”

  Kiwi started to express his denial with an irritated chitter. When he was done with his parrot noises, he went back to speaking.

  “If there’s a mess, it’s her fault for trying to murder me,” he said with a dramatic sniff.

  “You can clean it up.”

  “With my wings?” he said. “Ha!”

  He had a point. I’d tried to get him to help clean up in the past, but strangely, things just got messier and messier. It was almost as if he didn’t want to help.

  “And you don’t know where my mother has gone?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” he said and cackled to himself again.

  “Great. Well, at least if Jack asks me again, I won’t have to be dishonest.”

  Kiwi stopped his pacing and gave me a serious look. “Now break out the cheese puffs. That attempt on my life made me hungry.”

  I rolled my eyes and complied. It had been a long day, but things weren’t about to slow down yet.

  Chapter 15

  The next day, I began to feel a little bit guilty and a little bit worried about my mother. She was normally such a confident woman, one who drew much of that confidence from pride in her appearance. The effects of the backfired spell were no doubt having a horrific effect. There was no way she would have let herself be bested by a parrot under normal circumstances.

  First, I tried calling her house, but unsurprisingly there was no answer. After that, I dropped by but the place was absolutely deserted. I know that for a fact because, unlike Jack, I had a key and I let myself in to have a look.

  “Are you sure she didn’t say anything, Ki?”

  “Nope. She just ran, I mean… what’s the word?”

  “What word?”

  “The word for walking like a duck.”

  “Waddled?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Yes! That’s it! Waddled. Waddle, waddle, waddle,” said Kiwi to himself, over and over.

  “Ki?” I asked, interrupting him.

  “Oh. Yes. She waddled away crying.” He began to march up and down the counter, lifting his little legs to imitate a high-step. “Sob, sob. Waddle, waddle. Sob, sob, waddle, waddle.” He finished marching up and down and let loose another delightedly wicked cackle.

  “Crying!?” That was completely unlike my mother. The only time she ever shed tears was when she missed a jewelry sale. I was starting to feel a bit alarmed.

  “Yes. It was very funny.” He began to march up and down again. “Waddle, waddle, boohoo, boohoo…”

  I glared sternly at him. He could be a cruel little menace sometimes. Though in his defense, my mother had been trying to make me get rid of Kiwi for years; he had a right to his animosity toward her. Mom really had a way of bringing out the worst in people. And parrots.

  “I’m going to try a spell,” I said.

  “You should turn her into a duck. Then we’ll see who’s a ‘fudging feathered freak.’”

  “Did she say that?”

  Kiwi nodded his head up and down. “Oh yes. She says mean things to me all the time. Do the magic spell!”

  I began to rummage through some of the magic supplies I kept down behind the counter. From one drawer, I took out a little cauldron, and from another a little bag of mixed dried herbs—though not the kind you’d pick up in a supermarket.

  “I’m not going to turn her into a duck. I’m going to use a spell to find her.”

  Kiwi smacked the countertop with a talon. “Haven’t you got a spell that does the opposite?”

  “What, like a losing spell? We’ve already lost her.”

  He shrugged his wings. “Well then, pack it in, we’re done.”

  “No, Kiwi. She may be a horrible person sometimes, but she’s still my mother and I lo… I have to put up with her. I’m sure she didn’t mean all of those mean things he said to you. She’s in a bit of a state at the moment.”

  Kiwi gave a dismissive caw and flew up onto the bookshelf to watch me.

  I set some charcoal burning in the bottom of the little iron cauldron, and put the herbs on top. After murmuring a few magic words, I spun around three times and then peered into the smoke that was drifting up.

  When I was satisfied with the cloudiness of the smoke, I dropped a single hair on top—a blonde one with a gray root.

  Peering into the swirling smoke, I waited for the blurriness to disappear and an image of my mother to appear.

  It didn’t.

  I peered at the nothingness again. “It’s not working.”

  “Good,” said Kiwi.

  I stopped looking at the smoke for a brief moment to glower at my familiar before peering into the burning haze again. Nothing. Not a jot.

  With a sigh, I dropped a metal lid over the cauldron to extinguish it.

  “I guess you got your way, Kiwi. It’s not going to work. I don’t know if it’s a side effect from that spell Mom tried to use on Sandra, or whether it’s because she’s under some kind of magical protection, but I can’t locate her at all.”

  “Maybe someone pushed her out of a second-floor window.”

  “Kiwi!” I said, shocked. “Hang on now. That’s a bit much.”

  “Sorry,” he said with only a smidgeon of repentance in his voice.

  Before we could continue, my phone began to ring. I put the cauldron down behind the counter and looked at my phone—there was Jack’s name on the screen.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hi, Aria, it’s me.”

  “I know,” I said.

  Then came an awkward pause. I wasn’t very good at phone conversations.

  “I’m… calling about Annabelle again. Have you heard from her since I spoke to you yesterday?”

  “No, she’s gone completely off the radar, Jack. I even went by her house to see if she’d been there, but she seems to have disappeared for the time being.”

  There was another pause on the other end of the line. “This doesn’t look good, Aria.”

  I glanced down at my top before realizing he didn’t mean literally and he didn’t mean me.

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t. I’m sorry, Jack, but I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sure she has nothing to do with the… incident, but I guess she doesn’t even want to be associated with it. She must have gone into hiding until the whole thing has blown over.”

  “Blown over? It won’t blow over until we catch the killer.”

  “That’s what I mean,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll come back once you’ve caught the killer.”

  “Right. Yes.” There was
a pause while an unspoken if your mom isn’t the killer made itself comfortable. “If you hear anything, please let me know.”

  “I will—I promise.” I wasn’t lying, either. I’d had enough of my mother’s antics and I wouldn’t cover for her anymore.

  Ding!

  “I’ve got to go. There’s someone here. Talk soon, Jack.”

  “Take care.”

  At the door was Sarah in an astoundingly garish purple dress, and clutched in her fist was her scrapbook.

  “Hi, guys!” she greeted us.

  Kiwi replied with a happy squawk.

  “Hi, Sarah,” I said distractedly.

  “What’s up? Who was that on the phone?”

  I wandered across the room and sat down in the armchair where my mother had sat the day before.

  “That was Jack. They’re looking for Mom.”

  “Oh?” Sarah walked over and sat down in the other chair and began to fiddle with her braids.

  “They want to question her again. Jack’s been looking for her a few days now, but she’s been hiding from him.”

  “Well… that doesn’t sound good.”

  Sarah had a frown on her face and I knew what she was thinking.

  “Oh, no, it’s not that. She isn’t on the run because she killed Sandra.”

  “Why’s she hiding then? Just to avoid the hassle?”

  I shook my head. “Actually, the reason she’s hiding is kind of funny. Though now that she’s completely disappeared, I am beginning to worry a little about her.”

  Sarah leaned in, hands on her knees and a handful of braids flowing either side. “Oh?”

  “The night we found Sandra, Mom was at the house before I arrived, right?”

  Sarah hadn’t been there but of course she knew the general details. “Right. She was mad at Sandra because of Donovan and went there to hash it out.”

  “Yep. But actually, she wasn’t just going there to yell at Sandra. She planned to cast a spell on her.”

  Sarah’s face darkened. “Not a death spell, I take it?”

  “Nope. She actually cast a weight gain spell on her. To make her balloon up—literally. I guess she wanted to make her less attractive so Donovan wouldn’t want her. That, and just to punish her.”

  “Oh wow, that’s mean.”

  I shrugged. It was a bit nasty, but it was standard operating procedure for Mom. While I generally don’t use my magic to affect other people’s lives, she most certainly did. ‘What’s the point in being a witch if you don’t use your magic,’ is what she always said.

  “But here’s the thing. It didn’t work. Somehow the spell backfired and landed on Mom!”

  “Ooh!” said Sarah, pushing her palms together and holding them in front of her mouth.

  “Yep. So get this—my mom is now the size of, well, two or three of her regular self.”

  “No way!” She slapped her hands down on top of her thighs.

  “Yes way,” I said awkwardly. “And her hair’s gone frizzy, her skin’s blotchy and greasy, and the only clothes she’s got to wear are ripped elastic pants and a big old winter jacket.”

  Sarah shook her head at the very thought of it all.

  “What’s going to happen to her?”

  “Who knows?” I lifted up one shoulder. “Anyway, last I saw her, she said she had some kind of plan to get the weight back off. But she wouldn’t tell me what it is. She said I wouldn’t approve.” I rolled my eyes as I told her the last part.

  Sarah gave me a wry smile. “You and her do have slightly different moral codes.”

  “Yes, just a bit!” I said with my customary understatement.

  “Does Donovan know?”

  “Nope. I saw him yesterday and he was looking for her too. I don’t think he knows about her little magical mishap. She wouldn’t dare show herself in front of him looking like she does now. No, I don’t think we’re going to see Annabelle Whitmore again until she’s back to her old superficial self.”

  Sarah leaned back in the chair, looking like she was enjoying its comfort. The way a person sits after they’ve done a solid day’s work and has earned their rest.

  “These chairs are really cozy, aren’t they? Sometimes I think we get so caught up in all our work, we don’t take enough time to sit back and relax.”

  “That is certainly true of some people,” I said noncommittally. I didn’t bother to say the rest. Even though she wasn’t the hardest or most reliable worker, she did what she needed to do—usually—and she had amazing rapport with the customers.

  “Anyway,” said Sarah, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. “It might be for the best that your mother is missing. If no one can find her, no one can arrest her. And you certainly don’t need that kind of publicity.”

  I was forced to agree with her. I knew from personal experience that being linked to a murder could be horrible for business. I’d barely recovered from the last unfortunate incident when a bride had turned up dead overnight just a few inches from where we were currently sitting.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “And of course, it gives you time to find out who the real killer is,” said Sarah with a cheeky grin.

  “Why is it always on me?” I asked with an exaggerated sigh.

  Sarah lowered her arms, shrugged, then put her hands behind her head and stretched out her legs.

  “I don’t know, Aria. But we all have our talents and yours are weddings and… well…”

  “Finding murderers?” I suggested.

  “Dead people,” she said, closing her eyes.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  There was no response. It seemed Sarah was just about ready for a nap after a strenuous morning of turning up to work and then sitting down to chat.

  With Mom safe from arrest for now—as long as she stayed in hiding, it gave me a chance to follow up on Randi, Molly, Wanda, and everyone else who had a grudge against Sandra.

  I began to stand up but, catching sight of Sarah looking so relaxed, I decided to treat myself to a few more minutes of quiet rest first. I sat back down, stretched out, closed my eyes and yawned.

  Just a few minutes and I’d be good to go again.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—

  The sound of my alarm clock woke me from my slumber and I blinked in confusion.

  I was in my shop, in one of the armchairs. Next to me, Sarah was also beginning to stir. I watched her stretch out her right arm and slap it down into the air. The hand didn’t hit anything, and her arm continued to sail down until it slapped into the side of the armchair.

  Sarah opened her eyes and gave a few sleepy blinks.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—

  Scrubbing my hands over my face, I tried to come to my senses but couldn’t shake off the disorientation. When you hear something in the wrong place, it can be quite disturbing. Imagine if you were on a flight and the engines went silent. Or conversely, you were browsing in a shop and suddenly heard a full jet engine. Or you were sitting in your shop and heard the alarm clock that you knew for a fact was upstairs in your bedroom.

  “Turn it off,” said Sarah with a grouchy tone.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—

  “Where is it?” I said, peering around. I was half-asleep and fully bewildered. My sleep-addled brain thought that someone must have snuck in, moved my alarm clock, placed it in the shop, and then set it to go off. It didn’t seem particularly likely, but it was the only thing I could come up with in the moment.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP—

  The beeping sound suddenly launched itself across the room, and landed on the arm of the chair I was sitting on. It was, of course, coming from Kiwi.

  “Stop it!” I yelled at him. “When did you learn how to do that!?”

  He didn’t answer me, of course, not in front of Sarah.

  “Wow!” said Sarah, now fully awake. She clapped her hands in front of Kiwi. “What a clever boy! Good boy!”

  If parrots could grin, then that’s what Kiwi would hav
e been doing right then. Luckily, they couldn’t.

  BEEP BEEP—

  “That’s enough!”

  Kiwi jumped into the air and fluttered off across the shop.

  “I guess he got bored.”

  “He’s so clever,” said Sarah. “You should put him on TV.”

  “Oh, he’s been on the TV.”

  “Really?” Sarah’ eyes had lit up. “What was he on?”

  “He was on the TV.” I maintained my poker face. “And he’s been on the sofa, the table, the bookcase, the chairs, the—”

  “Ha, ha,” said Sarah, clearly not amused.

  “Pretty funny, huh?”

  “No,” she answered curtly.

  “I don’t think he’s well-behaved enough for television anyway. He’d cause a scene.”

  “Right, time to get back to work!” said Sarah, jumping to her feet.

  I blinked up at her in surprise. Sometimes I forgot that she knew what work was.

  “Good idea. I was thinking we might start thinking about a holiday display?”

  Sarah tilted her head as she processed what I said. She paused, then shook her head.

  “I mean this work,” she said, holding out her scrapbook in front of me. “For Sandra.”

  Of course. Not real work, pretend work.

  “Wow. Aren’t you done with that thing yet?”

  Sarah’s hobbies didn’t usually last this long or inspire such dedication as this one had. It may have been because of the tragic death of Sandra, or maybe Sarah had even found her true calling. True hobby calling, anyway.

  She shook her head with a whip of braids.

  “Oh no, it’s not done yet. And I’ve got to finish it. You know what my guru used to say, fo—”

  “Your guru?”

  “You know, from when I went to India. Around the time of the Davenport murder?”

  I shook my head. That is not what I remembered at all.

  “I thought you went to Iowa?”

  She gave me a funny look. “Yeah, India, Iowa. It’s a small town. Very spiritual. That’s where I met my guru, Bob. Anyway, he told me: Sarah, you must never ever, ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, quit something before you’re done.”

  “I’ve seen you quit things since then.”